


SAVING CAPTAIN WATSON

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: SAVING CAPTAIN WATSON [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Sherlock, Blah blah blaaaahhh threat threat threat...., Drunkeness, Graphic naughtiness, Ikki nastiness, Knives, Love and kissies, M/M, Male on male goodness, Sexual Assult, Threats, long coat swoopiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know where you live John. I have no time now, I was just saying a friendly hello. Oh but  later...maybe tomorrow...maybe later this week...maybe next week...I will be coming for you. And when I do...you will PAY for those five years you fucking bitch!..." </p><p>Sam was back.</p><p>And he knew where John lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THREAT

**Author's Note:**

> finally got this chapter malarkey sorted.

ONE

The last patient of the day was shown in as Dr Watson was rubbing his eyes in tiredness. He was so glad it was the end of a long long day. So long that Missy, the secretary, was already packing to go home, leaving John to lock up the surgery for the night.

The door clicked closed, alerting him that someone was in the room.

"Good day, and how can I..." John began, looking up. The voice froze in his throat as terror came frozen and unbidden to tear at his chest. The same time he gave a squawk and fell back from his chair, tipping it over, was the time it took for the patient, tall, with evil eyes from the most terrible time of Johns life, to bound across the room. He slammed a huge hand over Dr Watsons mouth and rammed him into the wall behind him, rattling the medical certificates in their frames and causing a resounding echo. 

Missy heard nothing. 

Missy was already on the lift to her car.

In another split second the patients other huge had Johns upper arm in a terrifying grip, hurting him with the rude and outrageous stinging sensation of skin stretched to tearing point.

Johns terrified eyes never left the face of the man looming above him mow and he began to jerkily shake his head no, tiny little shakes, like he was freezing cold. Beneath the meat of the mans hand he was saying "No no no no no..." but it was coming out as a wrenching muffled sob.

"Hello John" 

The smooth voice of Johns long ago nightmare made him whimper. 

"Missed me? I told you you would have to kill me to make me go away. Five years I was put away for what you let me do to you. Five years John. It has only strengthen my love...my need for you." 

John moaned, his heart strangulating in his neck. There was no way John had let this predator do anything, it had all been done to him!

The stronger man let go of Johns arm and slid his hand down. John screamed a protest only to have his head rammed back by that overpowering hand on his face. John hitched in a breath only to have it blocked by the increased pressure on his mouth. That unrelenting pressure! 

All he could do was moan in fear as the assaulting hand moved to touch him roughly, as if owning him, and without Johns permission, gripped his crotch firmly. The ugly smile on the assailants face made John remember other times like this, dreadful, terrifying nights under the sway of this mans power. He knew just how powerful that mans grip could become and that promise, of pain and terror, shot back to Johns core as a slight outward pressure on his jeans.

"Yes John, you remember...how much it hurt to be a bad boy for me.." the voice was ugly, inches from the hand that smothered his mouth, leaving him to drag in a fearful lungful through his nostrils. "How much punishment you endured at my hands when you disobeyed...John, I am back. And I am here to keep you. You are mine, whore, you filthy stinking slut!" the horrifying eyes John remembered from his nightmares bored into his soul as the patient spat out those words and John was made speechless as memories assaulted him, twisted at him, tied him up in panic. 

The patients lower hand twisted and John moaned again, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. The mans pointed tongue darted forward and licked the saltiness from Johns cheek and John shuddered in disgust.

With a shocking weightless suddenness, the man threw himself off John and then swung his right fist up, catching John in the side of his ruined mouth, splitting his already swollen lip and causing the doctor to collapse to the floor. 

The mans huge boot rested on Johns larynx then and Johns whole body froze. With one step the man could crush Johns throat.

"I know where you live John. I have no time now, I was just saying a friendly hello. Oh but later...maybe tomorrow...maybe later this week...maybe next week...I will be coming for you. And when I do...you will PAY for those five years you fucking bitch!..." spatters of spittle sprayed on Johns face from the way the mans emotions suddenly erupted from him. John made a small sound and then suddenly, the boot was gone and the door was closing leaving John to cry and curl up into a ball, his mind temporarily ceasing to operate.

Sam was back.

And he knew where John lived.


	2. DRUNK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John drinks a lot

TWO

DRUNK

Sherlock Holmes swept in with the rain, all coat and scarf and swoopiness. The pub was warm, but not filled with many punters as it was a Wednesday night. Late. Most people had gone home to tea, to sleep, to wake refreshed for another workday.

Not John Watson, it seemed. 

No, Watson had stayed way past his usual hour and by the time the publican had thought to call Sherlock John was....well, he was wasted.

"How many?" Sherlock asked the publican as he took off his dark gloves, ramming them into the pocket of his great coat.

"Mr Holmes, I honestly could not say. He's been here for three hours and he just...well he kept ordering and drinking." 

"How much does he owe?" Sherlock said then.

"He stopped paying after the eighth..."

Sherlock waved a fifty at the bartender without taking his eyes off John. 

"Keep it"

The bartender took the money and shuffled off, leaving the calculating eyes of Sherlock Holmes to eye his inebriated friend  
.  
John was at a booth. At least 5 glass steins littered the beer soaked red laminate table. The tables were never this dirty here. John must have growled the staff away. 

A half empty beer glass was clutched in his hand. 

Most of his blonde hair was mussed and sticking up in places with a liberal sprinkling of beery water applied to it. The fringe flopped into his half closed red-rimmed eyes. 

His face rested on his outstretched arm as if he was using it as a pillow. 

There was a swelling to his lips and a cut on the corner of his mouth which had bled quite a bit but was now dried.

Sherlock stalked quietly to his friend.

"John." he said, a tad lower than his normal voice, showing how concerned he was. John never drank this much, and never ever drank on a week night.

John murffled, his whole chest moving with the effort but his eyes did not open.

"John, let's go home."

"Not home...pub..." John mumbled.

"Yes, you are, now, you need to come home."

"No."

"John, let me help you."

"No. Beer. Beer needs me...."

"Beer tired John, leave it to sleep." Sherlock said, lifting Johns head with one hand and tugging the beer glass from Johns floppy grip.

"NooooOOOOOoooo...." John complained, boneless as Sherlock lifted him to his feet. Johns neck stopped working and his head dropped back. One eye rolled and he stared through it into Sherlocks face.

"Sherrrr...." he began.

"Lock, yes. Let's go. Can you walk?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll bloodywell walk owta HEEEEER!" John cried in a fake Scottish accent. Quoting from Highlander. Sherlock was astounded at his friends drunk brain. "Oops, maybe not..." John then added, as he stumbled against Sherlock who shouldered his arm and began to half drag, half carry John out.

Folding him into a taxi was an event Sherlock likened to putting an octopus in a string bag. A filthy stinking drunk octopus.

John mumbled all the way home and was copiously sick for 15 minutes in the plants outside Mrs Hudson's window. Finally his stomach muscles stopped heaving and Sherlock was able to get him upstairs and into the flat.

Sherlock removed his own coat, shoes, scarf and jacket and manhandled John into the bathroom.

The detective then stripped John to his pants and made him sit under a gloriously warm shower. John moaned in appreciation as Sherlock shampooed and soaped the nights debauchery away.

As he did this Sherlock studied his friend. What he saw made him feel uneasy. The drunkenness alone was enough to make his stomach twinge but the obvious damage to Johns face was most disconcerting.

It was only when Sherlock had John wrapped in a towel on the toilet seat, and was drying his friends dirty blonde hair that Johns head flopped back and his eyes fully took in Sherlock. 

"Sherlock...do you love me?" oh his blue blue eyes looking at Sherlock like a puppy.

"John, I--" Sherlock started, then froze. "John...fuck me John...is that a boot print on your fucking throat?"

John whined suddenly, quiet at first and then louder, like his heart was breaking . His face crumbled and, grasping at Sherlocks shirt, he pulled Sherlock close and buried his face in his friends abdomen.

"Christ John, what happened??" Sherlock whispered in terror, but all John could do was sob and sob and shake his head no...no no no.

Sherlock bodily lifted John up and all but dragged him into his bedroom. He placed him gently on the side of the bed, wrapped his own blue robe around his friends shaking shoulders and turned on the side-table light. He fell gently to his knees, and softly grabbed Johns chin in three of his long delicate fingers. John flinched. Sherlock shushed him and took the luxury of looking, really looking, at John. 

Johns lip, split. Johns mouth, swollen. Johns throat...a goddam boot print!!! 

Johns eyes red. Johns tears falling. Johns body shaking.

"Ah...." Sherlock whispered in sudden understanding, just one soft soft word.

"Don't let him get me Sherlock..." John pleaded in a rough cutting whisper. "Please....don't let him touch me!" and his whole body wracked in sobs, terrible heart wrenching sobs, that vomited up from his centre. "I can't do it again Sherlock, I would rather die! I will kill myself rather than let him touch me again!!!"

"John, who, who?" Sherlock begged. "Who touched you, who did this?" then he crushed John to him, pinning Johns unresponsive arms and pushing his face into Johns wet soapy hair. "Who do I have hurt?"

John drew in a ragged tortured breath.

"Sam...SAM...SAM!!!!!!" he screamed and suddenly his whole brain short circuited.


	3. FIT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John...are you back with me?"
> 
> The answer was a low moan and then the smallest nod of his head.

FIT

Sherlock had never seen anyone have a seizure before and he stored it away as a never-again-if-he-could-help-it life experience.

At first he thought John was sobbing but then his whole body jerked rhythmically and his head fell back. Sherlock took a quick breath in, and stared as Johns eyes rolled back and his mouth began to froth with tiny speckles of spit.

"JOHN!!" Sherlock cried, and gently dropped his jerking friend on the bed. Johns whole body arched, arms clenched straight, hands curled into tight fists. He made guttural sounds, whites of his eyes twitching in his dark sockets. Sherlock was as close to panic as he had ever been.

He had the presence of mind to dive behind his friend,however,and roll him on his side so he would not choke or swallow his tongue. Then all he could do was put one arm around him, hold him, and croon stupid soothing things into his ear.

It was over in three minutes.

John groaned and relaxed, trembling, eyes half closed.

"John...are you back with me?"

The answer was a low moan and then the smallest nod of his head.

"Sherlock...what happened..I'm dizzy..and I have a taste in my throat...like a bloodied beer factory..."John whispered.

"John, I don't know. I don't know what happened.."

"Deduce...me.."

"I can't John."

"...can..." John insisted tiredly.

"I can't...I am probably the most terrified I have ever been in my life.." came Sherlocks harsh whisper then and to his shock there were actual real tears drooping onto the robe around Johns chest. His own tears.

John began to breathe deeply. Sherlock had no idea if he should let John sleep or not. John was drunk. He was distraught. And he had had a seizure. But sleep was good, wasn't it?

After a while Sherlock laid John gently on his back, and, despite being sideways along the bed and still in a robe, covered John with a quilt. John muttered and then nestled. Sherlock blinked a long long look at his friend, and then gently climbed over his prone body. He lay down next to him but on the other side, facing him, one hand on his friends chest to feel the rise and fall.

The rise and fall lulled Sherlock until he fell into a light sleep.

 


	4. HURT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John explains about Sam

SAVNG CAPTAIN WATSON

FOUR: HURT

The screaming began in the early morning. Sherlock had been dozing when a sudden frightful noise woke him. It was John, and he was terrified!

"John, calm down, you are safe!!" Sherlock raised his voice and got a neat clip on the arm from Johns flailing arms. Sherlock rolled back and leaped to his feet.

"John!"

John was still screaming, a high pitched terrified scream of pure fear and he fought with the air.

"No please, no Sam, don't don't I'M SORRY!!"

"John!!!" Sherlock cried, and then threw himself on top of John, holding him down as he struggled with his invisible demons.

"nooooooOOOOOOooooo!!!" John howled and then his eyes opened with a start. His whole body was tense for seconds until he realised Sherlock was holding him and he was safe.

It was Johns beery breath that reminded Sherlock that John had tied one on the night before.

"Wait here, I'll get you water and an aspirin"

Sherlock was back by the time John had rolled over and sat on the side of the bed, head in his hands. He accepted the pills, and drank the water great fully. Sherlock put the empty glass on the side table and sat next to his friend.

"John please...tell me. Trust me. I can at least listen. You are not on your own. I'm here." he said in a quiet voice.

"Sure, I know that." John said to the floor, face hidden behind his hands. "I just thought...this was over."

"When did it start?"

"Uni. I was 17. I thought he hung the moon and the stars." John said, his voice a whisper. "For two years it was wonderful. Met my folks. Harry didn't like him but was happy I was happy. We went on holidays, did boyfriend things. When we turned 20 we flatted together. That's when it started going...." he swallowed "...bad."

Sherlock slid a tiny bit closer.

"John...it's OK..."

"He would get drunk. All the time. Wreck stuff in the flat. Crashed the car once. Got into arguments with shop keepers and traffic cops...anyone really. But it was me who he..." John paused, drew in a ragged breath. "It was me he hurt."

Sherlock rested his chin on Johns shoulder and laid his hand gently on Johns thigh.

"He just threatened at first. I could always talk him down. Then he started throwing things at me, aiming for me head. Then he started throwing punches..." John paused. "Twice he choked me until I passed out."

"Jesus...." Sherlock hissed.

"I was injured bad enough to be hospitalised three times. Broken arm. One time he king hit me and I split my head on the table going down. Once he...he...got me. With a knife. Here." John waved one of his hands to a scar that lanced across his hip. Sherlock could get no words out.

"I told A and E I was drunk. Fell over. Got into a fight. I was always so lucky that my loving boyfriend was there to take me home..." John shuddered. "If I had said just one thing wrong at the hospital...he would make me pay. Burn me with a cigarette lighter, choke me, punch me, kick me.."

"John-"

"I put up with him for 5 more years. We split up, I would be free, he would swear he had changed, I would come back to him, everything would be fine for months." John paused. "Until one day I just could not take it. It was just such a little thing. I was drinking a glass of water in the kitchen. He came home angry about someone at work and he...he...he just..." John swallowed.

"It's OK John"

"He dashed the glass from my mouth. It smashed on the ground. He told me I did not deserve water. I was a sneaky whore bastard and from then on I was to only drink when he said I could, and what he said I could, even if was day old..p-p-piss..." Johns eyes overflowed then and Sherlock put his other arm around him.

"I ran away. Ran out the door so fast....he chased me but I lost him. I went to Harry's for three nights. She took me back on the fourth day to get my stuff. He was supposed to be at work. I made her stay in the car...."

John began to shiver so Sherlock threw a quilt over his shoulders and tucked it around his friends shaking body. Then he wrapped his arms back around him.

"He was home. Very drunk. He had a gun...."

"Ohhhh no..." Sherlock shivered, and buried his eyes into Johns quilt covered shoulder, unsure if he wanted to hear this bit.

"He trapped me inside, would not let me go." John whispered. "I was there for two days...he tied me to a chair. Waved the gun around. Drank..."

John took a deep breath.

"Harry called the police and there was a stand off. At one point he put the gun under my chin...."

John shook his head. Not now, don't remember that bit now....

"Eventually he simply...ran off. Slipped the cops and was gone. He was on the run for four years before he was found in Majorca. He was forced back here to trial, my testimony put him away for five years. And now...he is out..."

"Five YEARS??" Sherlock asked incredulously. 

"That's all he got. I thought he would for get about me. But yesterday...he found me. At my surgery. Hurt me...wants to make me pay....knows where I live..."

"John you are safe here I can promise you that. I won't let him harm you."

John merely nodded. He didn't really believe it but he HAD felt safe here. He had felt good, like he fit, like this was home. But if Sam came here, everything would spoil.

Sherlock did something then he swore he would never do. 

He called Mycroft...

_______________________________________________________________________


	5. LESSON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best served hot and bloody.

FIVE: LESSON

In half an hour John was dressed in warm dry clothes, fed tea, and bundled into Mycrofts town car with Sherlock. 

They drove to Mycrofts country house where John was seen by Mycrofts personal physician, given some sleeping pills and tucked into Sherlocks bed. 

Sherlock held his hand until sleep claimed him then, stealthily slipped Johns phone from Johns jacket, which he had flung onto the chair before getting into bed. 

Sherlock flicked through the messages until...yes, there, from an unknown number:

"Don't be shy John, you know I love you...."

Sherlock cursed then, and, borrowing one of Mycrofts less distinguished cars, he stole back to London while it was still dark.

He parked around the corner of the flat and jogged inside. He stood at the window, looking at the orange dawn and flipped out Johns phone.

"I am ready to apologise. I have missed you Sam."

Then, as the sun began to silver the sky, he sat in the armchair and waited....

"Johnny!!!" came a shout from the stairs and the jaunty steps of a happy man not 20 minutes later.

Sam found the door open, so walked right in, a big smile on his face. He closed the door and strode into the lounge room.

Only to stop when he saw Sherlock. Dead eyed, dead still Sherlock. Sam seemed taken aback for a split second and paused. 

"I'm looking for John? Watson?"

"John is not here. I sent you that txt." Sherlock said, his long fingers pressed to his lips as if praying. His stare went straight through Sam. "You don't look like much." Sherlock added then. Sam was as tall as John, a little less stocky, with red veined eyes from too much alcohol and the hard yellow tinged skin of the long incarcerated.

"Why did you- ohhhh, you're Johns new fuck." Sam sneered. "Tell me, does he scream when you fuck him, that juicy hot body under you, dying for breath, begging for more?"

A slight tic was the only outward sign that Sherlock was distressed.

"That tight hole sucking you in even as he begs you to stop?" Sam paused, grinning. "Forcing your cock in his throat until he cries like a girl? Let me tell you mate, you are missing out-"

Sherlock erupted from the chair to grab Sam by the throat and ram him into the wall.

Sam laughed but he was also a bit disconcerted. This guy was strong. Tall. And creepy.

"In all my life I have never wanted to kill anyone as much as I want to kill you right now." Sherlock hissed, deadly quiet. "With my bare hands, I want to tear you apart.. I want your blood on my shirt, your heart in my hands, your dying breath on my lips."

"God, you're crazy, let me go!" Sam began to rasp, and struggle. Sherlock merely pressed his hand into Sams throat harder.

"Hush now Sam." he whispered. "Don't get all excited. I want to take my time."

"Who ARE you?" Sam squealed, struggling again.

"I am the man who will end you."

Sam screamed.

Sherlock took his time, extracting pain and sorries and begging from the pathetic wretch that was Sam, rapist and abuser of John. 

There were slaps when Sam tried to say Johns name in any context and Sherlock telling him never gets to say Johns name again.

There were whole sentences where Sherlock explained what John meant to him and how Sam had touched something precious that belonged to Sherlock and for that he must suffer. And suffer he did. Physically and mentally. Sherlock did his best work.

"Really, you should be flattered you are worth my time." Sherlock smiled like the devil.

There was begging and promises, even when Sherlock brought out a shiny knife and began to work in earnest.

There were screams then, but muffled by Sherlocks blood stained hand on Sams mouth as he kept right on working.

There was blood, seeping sometimes, flowing, and in the end...spurting.

Finally it was done. Sherlock stood, scraped his hand down his now bloody shirt, and flipped out his own phone.

"Mycroft....I need some rubbish taken out."

Then Sherlock spat on the maimed thing that had been Sam and stalked out of 221b into the dawn of a lovely new day.

________________________________________________________________________


	6. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy ending

EPILOGUE

"Sherlock!!!!" John gasped.

"It's OK John, it's not my blood."

And he dropped to his knees and took John into his arms, pressing a loving hot kiss on his lips. 

John held him close and kissed him back, openly and with complete trust.

"I love you I love you I love you-" Sherlock whispered. "You are safe now, Captain Watson."

"I know. I'm with you."

THE  
....N  
....D

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeeeeeeeek, poor John! Someone put on a caPe and save him! Or, indeed, a long swoopy coat of swoopiness....


End file.
